


Drown me

by Baryshnikov



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Chamber of Secrets, M/M, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 21:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15737871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baryshnikov/pseuds/Baryshnikov
Summary: At first, Percy felt like he was swimming, then, all of a sudden, he was out of his depth.





	Drown me

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise, this was never supposed to be this long so I hope it doesn't drag.
> 
> Also, I haven't fully checked this (it's too late and I have to get up early) so if there's anything strikingly wrong feel free to tell me.

Tom was the thing Percy had been searching for: the friend, the guide, the reason to wake up every morning and face the boredom that constituted as reality.  
From his very first word Tom was breath-taking, such intelligence, such perception, such an astute mind that he was so willing to share. Percy was overwhelmed by the surge of knowledge Tom provided. Concepts reserved for the highest academics were explained so simply, magic no one had ever mentioned was offered freely, and Percy drank it up. Tom was his lifeline, his connection to another world. He could use Tom’s knowledge as he saw fit if he used it at all. He quite liked just having it, just knowing what all the others didn’t, it made him feel – powerful, and he rather liked that.  
Percy didn’t fully understand the why he liked Tom though. The person behind the knowledge shouldn’t have intrigued him so much, but he often found himself picturing his friend. Imagining what he looked like, what his voice sounded like, whether he spoke in the same way he wrote because the way he wrote was intoxicating. It showed his class, his poise, his elegance, all of which Percy so admired and yet didn’t have himself. Tom wrote like he ruled the world as if nothing and no one could ever touch him. Percy wished he had that confidence, that finesse, and he would love to have that power, that assurance that he was so unbearably perfect. But he wasn’t, he was a Weasley and he was starting to loathe the name clung to him like dirt, obscuring everyone’s view of what he could have been. The constant stares, the endless whispers, the relentless rumours: how the family debased authenticity, contaminated their own blood; how they perverted magic’s purest form. While the others never seemed to notice, Percy couldn’t help but look away embarrassed, ashamed even, that this was what his father had done to a once respectable name.  
Percy was proud of his pure blood, was that so wrong? Tom didn’t think so, and Percy took comfort in Tom’s lovely words. The ones that told him what he was thinking wasn’t wrong, that he was finally thinking for himself and not blindly accepting everything he’d been taught. Tom praised him for his competency, told him how wonderful it was to talk to someone so unashamed in their beliefs. Tom told him he’d make a good Slytherin; someone so determined, so ambitious, someone so likely to achieve. Once it would have seemed so abhorrent to consider himself anything other than a Gryffindor, but Tom was persistent and patient and so very persuasive.  
~  
Percy would be lying if he said he didn’t like Tom. He was a teacher and a confidante and an idol and something else. At first, he’d just ignored the dull ache deep inside him, ignored the way it throbbed whenever Tom complimented him, whenever their conversations strayed into the dark. But now it was undeniable, it gnawed at him, kept him awake late into the night. His heart shouldn’t pound at Tom’s words, his throat shouldn’t go dry when he heard Tom’s voice reverberate around his head. He shouldn’t tremble when he felt invisible hands brush his own, but he did.  
He knew he wanted Tom somehow, but he’d never felt quite like this before, nonetheless, he understood the longing in his heart: he knew he wanted Tom. He wanted to touch him, explore him, consume him.  
He desperately wanted to know what Tom looked like, to fill in his sketchy fantasies, complete the indistinct perfection that hovered through his mind. He wanted to press his own mouth against Tom’s perfect one, he wanted to taste the flawless actuality that hung around Tom’s spectral existence.  
He wanted Tom to touch him; he didn’t know how or where or why; just that he wanted to feel Tom’s cold hands on his burning skin. Wanted his tongue doing sinful things that boys shouldn’t do to each other. He wanted Tom to be more than words, more than old pages filled with ink. He so desperately wanted him to real, a tangible reality, a physicality he couldn’t deny.  
He wanted to do things with Tom he’d never wanted to do with anyone else, he wanted to explore the forbidden world his brothers sometimes talked about. Perhaps he wanted to prove to himself their words weren’t true. That he wasn’t some frigid old maid. That he felt things too, that he wanted things too. Part of him wanted to prove to them that someone wanted him, he wanted to prove it to himself too, wanted to know he wasn’t completely unattractive, wasn’t entirely undesirable.  
~  
He didn’t remember when the pain started, the endless headaches and the subconscious exhaustion that never went away. He complained to Tom about it, and his replies were always smooth, and gentle, and soothing; they told him not to worry that he was just over-tired. Tom’s solution was to tell Percy things, guide him with coaxing words, until he was panting and whining and too spent to remember the pain.  
So, Percy ignored the discomfort, the soreness and the unshakeable fatigue because Tom’s words made his cheeks burn and his body quiver with a newfound anticipation. He agreed to Tom’s strange requests because Tom always rewarded his efforts with delicious words and filthily risqué phrases.  
He followed Tom’s instructions to the letter despite how much his head throbbed and his body ached. He climbed through soggy passages and reeking tunnels. He opened the door with words Tom had taught him to say. Despite the feeling of sickness that was slowly permeating his entire body, he admired the room he doubted more than a few had ever seen. Tom had promised never to stop showing him all the things he so desperately wanted to see if he would complete a few little tasks in return.  
As he neared the main chamber the pain in his head intensified, every inch his skin prickled like a million tiny needles were forcing their way through. The dim light felt too bright and his eyes stung and his vision began to blur, the edges clouding with darkness. He collapsed on to the wet stone.  
~  
His head no longer ached when he opened his eyes. The world seemed to spin, colours blurring together. His clothes were wet, and he was shivering. He rubbed his eyes and looked around the spinning room. It was just the same as he left it: cold and clammy and damp. Slowly, the world returned to focus and Percy noticed across the chamber sat another boy. He was striking. A face made of everything everybody wanted, handsome from every angle. A pale aureole framing his body. He was an angel and Percy felt so inferior, so substandard in his presence. Tom didn’t care. He was so gentle, so considerate, so perfect.  
Percy would have stayed there forever, soaked through and shaking with cold, as long as he got to be close to Tom, the physical, actual Tom that had haunted him for so long. It warmed Percy’s heart that Tom’s dark eyes lingered on his face for a moment too long, even if they always stayed a respectable distance from each other.  
Tom himself was more than he could have ever hoped for, he was a presence with such profound energy, a depth of knowledge that seemed unfathomable. He was more so than ever before what Percy wished he himself was. He wanted the power Tom had dancing through his eyes, he wanted to know all the secrets Tom had hidden under his skin and he so desperately wanted the admiration, the adoration, the respect that Tom commanded. Tom promised him such feelings, promised to teach him, make him a thing to behold, admire and respect, and Percy believed him.  
~  
When Tom was talking, he barely listened, just stared at the way his lips moved and his eyes glowed. Tom stopped talking long before Percy noticed the silence. When he did, Tom was looking at him, but he wasn’t irritated, more intrigued. Dark glazed eyes considering him. There was an intensity in that gaze which made Percy blush and Tom smile a little. He looked striking when he smiled as if he could calm all the troubles in the world with a smile alone. Carefully Tom moved into the friendly gap between them, the closing of the space seemed to signify something to Percy, a slight reciprocation for his feelings. It made his heart flutter to think Tom was interested in him. Tom touched his face, fingers cold on his cheek, he outlined Percy’s lips. His fingers were soft and damp and so gentle. Every movement Tom made was planned, cautious enough for Percy to stop him, but Percy didn’t want to. For the first time, he had a secret, one none of his siblings could take from him. He’d never had something so private before and he never wanted to let it go.  
Tom’s hands were smooth and cold and gentle. They never fumbled, never hesitated, never faltered just continued endlessly. They tested the water, hands caressing his neck, fingers tracing the ridges and dipping into the gentle grooves, nails making his skin prickle. Percy didn’t tell him to stop because he didn’t want him to. He needed this foreign validation, needed to know he was desirable, that he had a trace of allure; something, anything that made him interesting like all his brothers.  
Tom was everywhere: hands all over his body, lips tasting any inch of skin Percy cared to show, Tom even plunged into his mind’s ocean. Percy could feel him, exploring, consuming, everything he could. Percy knew he should stop him, shouldn’t allow someone to see him so vulnerable, so exposed, stripped of everything he ever had, but he was still in control, he could stop Tom if he wanted, he just didn’t want to. He convinced himself of his capabilities as he lay there, Tom colouring every inch of his world.  
~  
The gap between them now closed, opened a world of possibilities and Percy was willing to indulge in them all. He could step away, any time he wanted to, he told himself every day, and every day he pushed the thought to the back of his mind. Instead, he spent his time with Tom: discovering a hundred new things, consuming Tom’s words as if he needed them to survive, learning about Tom and learning about himself. How he reacted to Tom’s cold fingers on his neck, his lips against his own, his hands slipping under his school uniform, running across his waist, sliding down his hips and beneath his underwear.  
Percy felt so weak, hands shaking, limbs aching, throat dry. Tom between his legs doing bad things that felt so good. His mouth so warm and wet, making Percy feel like he was floating, making him pant, making his back arch and needy whimpers leave his mouth. If he could bear to raise his head off the floor he’d be able to see Tom’s dark eyes, black in the dim light, gleaming at him, so aware of what he was doing, so shameless. Percy moaned, an obscene sound he barely registered as his own. He tried to focus on something other than the indecently slow sucking sound or the way the tip of Tom’s tongue felt or how hot he was like an unquenchable fire had been set alight somewhere deep inside him. He never wanted the moment to end, never wanted to forget what Tom felt like, sounded like, looked like in this one perpetual moment.  
He knew then he would do anything for Tom, anything to feel he was wandering through heaven again. Tom was always gentle in his requests, words that made his wishes seem so – innocent, so simple. If Percy ever hesitated, Tom whispered those lovely words in his ear. The words that complimented him, praised him and made him feel so powerful, so special.  
Tom rewarded him, just as he had done before, but these rewards were so overwhelming, they left Percy dizzy and sick with a hunger he couldn’t explain. People noticed he wasn’t the same as before, more distracted, inclined towards the darker, nastier things in the world, but they thought nothing of it: just a passing fancy that would wear off with time. Percy knew he would never get bored of Tom unless he could no longer feed his hunger and Tom would never do that.  
~  
Percy didn’t remember when Tom stopped being so gentle when the darkness in his heart spilled out and infected everything he touched. He barely noticed when the requests became more sinister when no one else could deny the depravity of what Tom wanted, Percy felt himself shrugging, apathetic to the true horrors Tom revelled in. He couldn’t remember when Tom’s perfect mouth first lied when his silver tongue first spun dishonest webs. He only felt Tom’s hand gripping the back of his neck and that smile, and that voice whispering all the words Percy loved to hear.  
When he looked in the mirror every morning he didn’t see his face. He saw a spectre so stained with Tom that he couldn’t see what was there before. He saw Tom in his smile, heard him forever in his head. Tom was in every shadow, seeping through every crack and festering in his heart. Tom was rotting him from the inside out and he was letting him. He was nothing but the host to Tom’s parasitic lifeforce and there was nothing he could do about it. When Percy cried, forehead against the mirror and pathetic tears dripping down his face, he only saw Tom in his eyes, smiling that nasty smile which meant he’d won.  
~  
Percy liked to think he’d been in control once, that he’d held off the inevitable, steered, at least partially, through the storm. But deep in his stomach he knew, he’d never pulled the strings, that was all Tom. Tom had influenced him, manipulated him, controlled him, and now, just when he saw that he couldn’t stop it anymore. He had been out of his depth ever since he touched that diary and now he was paying Tom’s price, and the cost of knowledge was so very high.


End file.
